Doolitle and the Cannibal Wench
by Newtinmpls
Summary: The Magisters think they know best. It doesn't lead anywhere good. Slightly AU, spoilers for Dvinity: Original Sin (II), eventually rating may move to M for future romance (likely femslash, if you don't like, don't read), did I mention slightly AU? Because I get really annoyed at what you 'can't do' in game. Includes (eventually) Buddy and "that one cat".
1. Chapter 1

_Authors note: At the time of starting this fic, I have not played the game Divinity: Original Sin, and have only about 10 hours of play so far in this game (the sequel). But it's fun and inspiring, so here goes. I realize that most people reading fanfic (including me) read it for the characters that we know from the game, so rest assured, I will do my best to include as many as I can. If you don't care for this story – or even if you do – write one of your own. I would love to see more fic on this game._

 **Standard disclaimer: Divinity: Original Sin II is the inspiration, creation and possession of Larian Studios, Swen Vinke, Bert Van Semmertier, Joachim Vleminckx, Jan Van Dosselaer, Sarah Baylus, Julien Brun, Borislav Slavov. This work of fiction exists as a tribute. I have fun, but make no money.**

 **~~Not Exactly A Vacation Cruise~~**

I woke with a headache and an odd tickling tightness around my neck. And I was hungry. And I was strapped down on some sort of weird experimentation table with metal bands across my body. My breasts felt squished. Even as I realized that much, the bands snapped up and open and before I'd really made the conscious choice to get the gods-be-damned-hells out of whatever-I'd-been strapped to, I was up and standing and only slightly dizzy. I put a hand to my neck. A collar of some sort. Smooth all the way around, no clasp, no lock that I could detect by touch. That didn't bode well.

Something felt off, somehow. Well, besides the fact that my leathers had been exchanged for a flimsy shift that my mother would have been ashamed to use as a scrub rag. No shoes, no weapons (well that wasn't a shock, really). It wasn't any of those though. I blinked, I could see around me by the light of various torches and lanterns, and I could hear irritated conversation in the distance; but somehow I felt like there was a sense "missing". I didn't like the feeling.

"Where are we?" A nearby feminine voice, with an unfamiliar accent.

The question brought me back to the more immediate present.

I looked to my left. Standing near a similarly "opened" table was a delicate featured person … no she had to be an elf. I would say I looked over, but really it was up. I'm tall for a woman at just shy of six feet. She was at least six inches taller than me; and that was in a slight crouch that put me in mind of some wild creature assessing its surroundings. Standing to full height she would be at least 7 feet tall. She wore the same kind of poorly made shift that I did, but somehow on her, the contrast between the coarsely woven and sewn linen and her fine features only served to emphasize her grace.

I didn't recall ever meeting an elf before. Seen one occasionally from a far distance yes, but not up close and personal. I'd spent most of my life in the wilderness, hunting, exploring and just being. I'd learned the feelings of "being watched" by animals and sentients, and I was reasonably sure that I'd been seen by elves many more times than the few and fleeting glimpses that I'd had of them. She quirked her head in small graceful movements that put me in mind of a bird. The hair that went down to her waist was the color of a golden wheat field at sunset.

As to her question, where we were was a roughly triangular wooden room. The curved shape of the walls, the faint smells of salt and fish, and the slight, but perceptible shifting of the floor all combined to assure me that not only were we in some sort of ship, but that it was a large one and we were well at sea. A glance around the room showed a number of those uncomfortable experimentation tables, locked and reinforced cabinets and shelvings filled with leather bound books and gruesome looking specimens. Standing up a short stair, near a large looking tome on a pompous looking pedestal was a red-and-gold-robed woman; older than myself. The lines of her face indicated that she more usually sneered than smiled. She could only be a Magister.

Another prickle went down my spine and I looked back to the elf. "On board a ship." I spoke quietly, though the Magister did not seem at all concerned with us. I thought it through. Out at sea, with a room given over to experimentation and possibly research rather than carrying troops or supplies. I recalled endless evenings studying with my mentor, carefully sorting through his odd collection of books, scrolls and even design plans for everything from wheelbarrows to lockpicks to military vessels. "Lucian class, I suspect."

She gave me a tentative smile.

I took the few steps to her, my hand extended. "I'm Morra," I answered her smile with my own. "Pleasure to meet you, although I would have preferred to do so." I glanced in the direction of the Magister, "elsewhere."

This close, over the scents of fish, sea and chemicals and herbs from this on-board laboratory, I could smell what I presumed was the elf. A faint whisper reminiscent of birch and violets. Tangled, or perhaps woven into her hair were several small sprigs of mistletoe. Despite the fact that we were days, or possibly more, away from land, the sprigs were still green and fresh.

"Moira?" She carefully pronounced my given name, rather than the version of it I normally used, and had used with her. Was she that perceptive, or did she know of the more usual pronunciation? I wondered how much familiarity she might have with humans.

"That is the more accurate original version of my name, you are correct," I admitted, "But my little sister couldn't quite manage that, so I got used to Morra."

"Morra." She said carefully. "I am called Al-Asai." She looked over toward the Magister. "And that must be our host." The sarcasm in her musical voice was delightfully understated.

Al-Asai was also wearing a collar. It glowed dimly with a soft turquoise light. Like mine, hers had no lock, no clasp, no obvious way to get it off. I rather suspected that was the whole point. Between the collars and the Magister, a dark pit of dread began to form in the pit of my stomach. The odds did not look good for use getting out of this situation. And then I finally recognized what it was I'd wondered about earlier; the sense of something missing. I was cut off from source.

Ever since it had woken in my adolescence, I'd considered it more of curse than a blessing. Oddly now I felt bereft.

I'd heard of source hunters seeking to destroy those who wielded their "curse" to cause harm. Most of the stories depicted the Source wielder as a crazed power-mad villain and the hunters as heroes. Death, but a clean death. The rumors and bits of gossip about what Magisters did, or attempted to do in their "rehabilitation" were a disturbing contrast to the "official statements" about Magister activity and aims all sanctioned by Alexander, son of the universally lamented Lucian.

I shrugged inwardly. Whatever our situation, we needed more information, and there was only one place to start to get it. I walked slowly up to the Magister. I didn't bother holding my palms out or otherwise indicating I meant no harm; after all it wasn't like I was in a position to do anything, and any Magister worth her robe would already know that.

As I approached she smiled in a way that made me wish fervently that I had a weapon. Any kind of weapon.

The Magister herself had dual knives at his belt. I was slightly reassured by that. Knives I could dodge, especially if I knew they were coming. Magic, well that was a whole other, and usually a more dangerous story. Without access to source, I had no way to defend against whatever mystical things she might be able to do.

She was looking not at me, but at my neck, at the collar. "Some of my best workmanship." He murmured. Then meeting my gaze, he asked. "How are you feeling?" Her tone would have been suitable for asking a pup "Are you a good dog?"

I bit back the first four responses that would have likely gotten me strapped back down again and said, politely, well politely for me, "Why are we on board a Lucian class ship?"

She smiled condescendingly. "Because we are at sea, of course." Her tone reminded me of someone talking to a not-too-bright child. "You're to be taken to Fort Joy." Her gaze flickered momentarily to indicate Al-Asari as well, "to be cured of the cursed Source that infects you."

Looking again at my collar, the pride in her voice was clear. "Some of my finest work." Then she glanced back at me, and made an odd gesture with one hand, likely meaning to indicate Source-Calling and added, "Try it. Summon your cursed powers."

If the gleam in her eye was any indication, I was pretty sure that any such attempt was likely to be not only a failure, but incredibly painful. I've been accused of being shortsighted and impulsive on occasion, but I was just not willing to be that stupid.

"No, Magister." I muttered, attempting a humble tone.

Apparently it succeeded, because the gleam of anticipation in her expression changed to a flicker of unconcern, as if I was no longer of any interest.

"Well," She nodded to the door, "as the two of you are now awake, you are required to report to Magister William who will register you."

I turned, and then paused. The heavy tome I'd noted earlier was still open on its pedestal. I took a step toward it.

"That's not for you to be concerned about." The Magister's voice cracked like a whip.

I put my hands demurely behind my back. I noted that Al-Asai followed my example.

"Yes Magister." We spoke in unison, and then headed out the indicated door as quickly as possible.

 **~~Murder Most Foul~~**

As quickly as I wanted to get out of the range of that particular and unlikable Magister, the first thing that greeted me on leaving her domain was a drying pool of blood spread across most of what had once been a very nice carpet. It did occur to me to wonder what sort of extravagant idiot would put any kind of carpet, never mind a high quality one, on board a ship. The short hallway was occupied by two more Magisters flanking a doorway to the right. The one on the left looked concerned and alert; the other just looked distracted and worried.

Under my breath I muttered something about frying pans and fire.

Al-Asai's approach was both more direct and more subtle. "Oh dear," She raised both delicate hands to her mouth in distress. Then she looked to the Magisters. "Has someone been..?" She didn't finish her sentence. I suspected it was deliberate. She seemed to be going out of her way to appear not to be any kind of threat.

The two magisters flanking the door both replied simultaneously. The one on the right with a glare that (had she any kind of source connection at all) could have incinerated us on the spot.

The one on the left with a bunch of pseudo-concerned babble about the "safety" of the "passengers". Passengers indeed; captives more like.

However neither of them made any attempt to block our inquiry. Al-Asari stepped gracefully around the drying blood and made her way into the room. I followed, curious.

Laying on the floor were the gruesome (and mangled) remains of someone. At this point I couldn't even tell what race they had been, although I saw no sign of scales on the skin or a tail. That eliminated Lizard from the list of possibilities. Nearby lay a broken collar, that near as I could tell looked a lot like the ones that we were wearing. Broken how, I wondered. I itched to get my hands on it and examine it. But given that there was a Magister here, it wasn't a good idea. At the moment. I made a promise to myself to try and come back later. Hmm. First that heavy tome, now this collar. For a prisoner, I seemed to be acquiring quite the interesting "to-do" list.

I noticed Al-Asai was looking at the remains as well. There was an odd look of curiosity and compassion about her. I'd heard tale that elves could "steal knowledge" if they "ate" (the more horrific of the tales would read "cannibalized while still alive") someone. Her gaze flicked up to me and for a moment her expression was defensive.

"I think," I replied to her unspoken question, "that we need to learn as much as possible."

The magister introduced herself as "Magister Waters, in charge of this investigation"; admittedly with the way the this Magister's uniform covered most of her face I hadn't realized he was a she. I noticed she was not inclined to call it a murder investigation. Possibly prisoners didn't really count to him as "people". She also offered us a "shiny gold coin" if we brought her any valuable information.

What I wanted to do was punch her in the nose. I looked down to try and hide any contempt that might show on my face, and said. "I don't know if that's safe, Magister." I kind of half meant my own anger, but she took it the way I'd hoped.

"Finn was afraid of source," She said. "And right to be so. Someone used that foulness to destroy him before he could be purged."

Purged. I wondered. That was definitely a different sort of word than "cured".

She looked at me, and then at Al-Asai. "The two of you were still unconscious, so that makes you the only two passengers that have an alibi. Unless you can somehow kill in your sleep?"

We both shook our heads, but she wasn't really expecting any kind of answer.

"Well, you'd best go register with Magister William," Waters instructed us, "and recall what I said. Besides being a dangerous murderer, anyone using source is likely to call the Voidwoken down on us." She made a warding gesture. "Best to find them quickly. Keep everyone safer." She made a vague gesture toward the stern of the ship. I could recall the basic plans of a Lucian class ship, and had a general idea of where we needed to go to get registered.

"Let's go." I murmured to Al-Asai, attempting to be encouraging. I reached out to take her hand. It was small and a little chilled. And just for a moment, a tiny bit of what I was used to with Source came back to me. I could feel, just for a moment, that she was not an enemy. She was lost, and wary, and a little confused, but also had a sort of undercurrent of hope and curiosity. None of this was a shock, as I'd gathered as much from her body language, but it was reassuring that Source was blocked, but not lost to me.

She waited until we made our way to a hall past the various Magisters to speak. "Many humans are fearful of elves."

"Some fear what they don't understand," I said, "but for me, I'm curious about things I don't know."

I took the lead, of sorts. This ship was even larger than most buildings I'd been in. If I hadn't been a prisoner, I would have loved to explore it. Everywhere there were Magisters, mostly watching, and instead of cargo were an assortment of poorly garbed people. No, I was being a fool. They - we - were the cargo. I started a mental tally. Elf, an older looking dwarf and a heavyset rather twitchy young man, playing some kind of card game and drinking something alcoholic, or at least that was my guess to judge by the foam on their mugs. A bearded man was watching them. Something about his stance made me wonder just how many weapons the Magisters might have confiscated from him. I bet it was quite a few. All wore the same collars and the same poor linen garb as Al-Asai and myself. Arguing in a corner were two lizards; they were sorting through what looked like somewhat stale looking foodstuffs; they were clearly less than impressed with the available selection. Then most surprising and rather dismaying was a cluster of children. They couldn't have been more than ten or eleven. I'd been older than that when I'd first felt source within me. Were they early bloomers, or did the Magisters have some way of telling who would be touched by source?

The children were gathered around a laughing woman with red hair. She had her hands up, shaking her head and denying something they were requesting. Under her cheerful manner, she looked strained.

"Please, Lohse, sing something for us?"

"Please Lohse?"

As they all chimed in, demanding a song, her expression tightened. Then she looked up and focused on me. "There you are, my dearest wife!" She exclaimed, weaving through the gathered potential audience.

Beside me Al-Asai let go my hand and took a half-step to one side. I glimpsed the hint of a smile on her face.

"I've been telling these charming young ones that my name is Lilah Peebles-Screeble." Her grip on my arm held some of the same anxiety I'd seen in her face.

The name and the red hair finally clicked. One of the many lessons my mentor had struggled to hammer into my stubborn head was that people who travel could be good sources of information. Rangers and Source Hunter types usually had decent reputations, but for getting the underside of local gossip, entertainers and tinkers, or any travelling seller of anything; those were the ones to get to know. I'd memorized a list of names and professions and likely routes. And Lohse was a name I'd heard before. That made her refusal to sing somewhat surprising. Usually entertainers love to entertain.

Well, the best lies are based on truth. "I'm so glad I've found you," She should be a better source of information on what was going on here than any of the other prisoners, so yes I was glad. I took both her hands in mine. "Are you all right? I've been worried." Well, only since about a minute ago, when I noted her strained look, but it was technically the truth.

She gave me a grateful smile. "I'm better now that you're here."

I suspected her words were just as true as mine had been.

"Get something to eat," I urged her. "You'll feel better with something in your stomach." I gestured to where the Lizards were still arguing. "Apparently I have to register with Magister William."

"Certainly, wife." She winked at me, and her smile seemed a hair less strained.

Behind us, the children were exclaiming in dismay, but by the time 'Liliah' and I parted ways, they had started playing some sort of game involving shells and what looked like large splinters or small fish bones.

Farther along the hall, were a heavyset Magister and a hound. I'm pretty sure it was a hound. It was wearing some sort of armor, and like many of the magisters, it also had a sort of hood, or modified muzzle that covered it's eyes. The dog promptly started barking at us. I could tell by his body language that he didn't intend to attack. The magister who stood next to him, smiled indulgently at the dog. The barks were clear enough to me though; "Source! Bad!"

"You can smell source?" The question popped out before I thought about it. Oops. I'd been warned about doing that too often.

"Bad Source." The hound pawed momentarily at it's nose. "Collar. Good. Less smell."

The magister looked at me for a moment and then seemed to shrug inwardly, unconcerned. Either he'd seen the talent before, or he knew the dog well enough to know it had his loyalty. Possibly both. He gestured to a door farther along. Another Magister stood guard. Presumably that was where we would finally meet up with Magister William.

Beside me Al-Asai was looking back and forth between myself and the hound. "Well," she said softly. "Speaking of things I don't understand yet."

"Call it a talent." I said. "He doesn't like the smell of source, but apparently the collars make us ... less smelly?" Using words to describe it seemed to be sort of incomplete.

She smiled at my expression. "It loses something in translation, then?"

"Yeah," I agreed, at a loss to explain it any further. "It loses a lot in translation."


	2. Chapter 2

_Authors note: I still don't have a really detailed grasp of the organizational structure of the Magisters. Feel free to PM me detailing what I missed._

 **Standard disclaimer: Divinity: Original Sin 2 is the inspiration, creation and possession of Larian Studios, Swen Vinke, Bert Van Semmertier, Joachim Vleminckx, Jan Van Dosselaer, Sarah Baylus, Julien Brun, Borislav Slavov. Not mine, no money, unless as a sign of the immanent Armageddon I somehow magically get a contract to write and publish a novel from the previously mentioned owners. Not holding my breath.**

 **~~Unregistered~~**

Making our way to register with Magister William, Al-Asai and I were stopped at what I suspected was the final door, by yet another of the seemingly endless supply of Magisters. He asked us our names, but didn't appear to have any sort of list or documentation. Maybe he had a good memory and the paperwork was elsewhere. Maybe he just didn't care.

Magister Payne spoke in such a completely bored monotone that I suspected he could give these instructions in his sleep. Or possibly had. "Please-step-inside-and-wait-quietly-you-will-be-processed-as-effciently-as-possible." His hood concealed his eyes. I wondered if they were even open. His stance just screamed of utter boredom. "We-hope-you-have-had-a-pleasant-journey-while-in-the-care-of-our-divine-order."

"Really?" My mouth had definitely engaged before my brain, "Kidnapped and collared like a dog does not make for a pleasant voyage."

He straightened just a bit at that. I was half expecting him to get angry, but instead he chuckled, the arrogant bastard. "Now lass," Like the first Magister we'd met, there was that tone again of speaking to a young and very slow child. "We all wear what we wear for a reason, don't we?"

If I could get my hands on some weapons, I'd be gods-be-damned "wearing them" for very good reason.

Amazingly, I managed not to say that out loud.

I scanned the room, ignoring for the moment the argument taking place in it's center. Three Magisters were haranguing an older woman wearing one of the ubiquitous source blocking collars.

We walked into yet another ridiculously well-appointed room. More expensive carpeting. To our left a wide four poster bed that was completely not appropriate for sleeping on board ship. A table set with actual silver ware; the plates and goblets were no cheap tin, and I could see a decorative pattern stamped into the edges of the metal. To our right was a wide stair upward, beyond that a sprinkling of display cases with some kind of mesh-weave across the fronts. At least some protection; simple shelving on shipboard usually resulted in things flung about the room. In the far corner of the room a wingback chair and footstool of some sort of expensive weave; nearby was a waist high detailed Orrery, probably showing the local stars for navigation purposes, and near it and what must be bust of Alexander. I doubt the actual man was quite as attractive as his inevitably handsome portrayals that were to be found on coin, statuary and even drawings proudly posted above the better inns and entertainment halls, proclaiming that "His Holiness, head of the Divine Order, was served here."

My musings were interrupted by a rather hard squeeze of my right hand from Al-Asai, who had apparently been paying more attention to the people than the details of the room.

An older Magister was clutching his paper and quill so hard that he splintered the quill. Drops of ink and bits of feather spattered. He didn't appear to notice. "Wendigo," His voice was hoarse with shock and dismay. "You killed him? You admit it?"

"Yes, I did." Her expression was confident, and her tone was utterly unconcerned despite two of the Magisters training weapons on her as she spoke. Me, I'd have been a little upset; it's hard to dodge a crossbolt aimed at your abdomen at a range of less than a foot. She added. "But of course that was only the beginning," She turned to look at Al-Asai and I, making eye contact with each of us in turn. Her pupils were completely dilated.

She spoke to us. "There's others here whose lives must end."

"The woman's mad." The Magister who'd been doing the writing, likely Magister William, said it at the same time I did. this was probably the only time I was ever going to agree with a Magister on anything.

Maybe he heard me. Maybe Al-Asai and I were just in the right place at the wrong time.

"You there, Sourcerer!" Go and fetch Magister Siwan! We need to do more than collar this maniac: we need to shackle her, hands and feet!"

I could have truthfully said I didn't know one Magister from another; true, but it didn't take a genius to figure out that Magister Siwan was clearly the charmer in charge of fitting collars to us tained-by-Source types. No, I was much more curious as to what this Wendigo person was up to and why she was spouting semi-prophetic sounding comments about Al-Asai and I.

Al-Asai asked the question; "What lives must end? What do you mean?"

Wendigo's eyes twinkled; and this was in strange contrast to the almost peaceful, almost beatific expression that came over her face. "I'm just about to create a scene."

For a split second I found myself thinking of Lohse, and entertainment and wondered what she could possibly be talking about.

Then she reached up, and with a quiet 'click', she took off her collar. As she discarded it, I could see clearly that it had opened into two semi-circles of whatever it was made of, and the moment she removed it, the turquoise glow faded away.

For a long moment the image of what she had done replayed in my mind. She took of her collar. She took it off, like it was cheap jewelry to be discarded. She took it off. No pain, no jolt, no magical enforcement or consequence. She just. Took. It. Off. What the gods-be-damned kind of power did this crazy person have?

Magister William cried out "Subdue her!"

The Magister holding the crossbow raised it to fire into Wendigo's chest. That was no subdue. An abdomen wound would incapacitate and possibly could be healed. A chest shot was intended as a kill shot. Even as I was theoretically sympathetic to a fellow Source-sensitive, I couldn't fault the move.

The other one rose a sword to strike her down. "If she casts Source, the Voidwoken will come! They'll end us all!"

Wendigo's smile was absolutely confident. "Precisely." She said. She raised her hands and I had a moment to wish I could sense source; I might have had some tiny clue as to what she was up to.

And then she did ... something.

I woke lying flat on my back, trying to get air back into my lungs for a minute that felt like an hour. I don't see that much time could have passed, but whatever the Sourceress had done, it was effective. The three Magisters lay sprawled, limbs at twisted angles that proclaimed they'd not survived. There were patches on the floor where the carpeting, and possibly the wood below it was burning. Smoke was accumulating along the edges of the upper parts of the walls.

Beside me, Al-Asai slowly sat up, raising a delicate hand to push her hair back out of her face.

I got to my feet. I'd probably be bruised later, but for the moment everything seemed to be working.

Wendigo had escaped. The ship was on fire. And I'd been so sure this day couldn't get any worse.


End file.
